


True Names

by allllllllthethings



Series: Pomegranate: One Winter in Five [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, True Names, a whole fic to justify like two lines of dialogue, geralt: humans live like 150 years right?, jask already taking off his shirt: geralt youre so fucking stupid, v brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26537221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allllllllthethings/pseuds/allllllllthethings
Summary: "I am made of magic, and it demands balance. It is not that it hurt me to leave someone in my debt, without taking payment; it is that Icould not do it. In the spring, I started walking again, my feet seeking out my Witcher unerringly and without my input."I got frustrated with the ignoring of True Names in all the fae!Jaskier aus, so, here we are.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Pomegranate: One Winter in Five [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974544
Comments: 21
Kudos: 423





	1. Jaskier Learns

**Author's Note:**

> noncon content warning: It is mentioned that Jaskier was once in the habit of using his magic bullshit in bed.
> 
> For purposes of this fic, Geralt's Name is Gwynnbleidd, because that's the name that Destiny calls him, because of elvish whatever. Jaskier's Name is Jaskier, and he is called Dandelion or Julian or whatever catches his fancy.

The elf-king called the witcher _Gwynnbleidd_ , and some things immediately became clear to me. For one, why Geralt of Rivia didn’t respond to his use-name, like so many foolish humans did. For another, where the faint thread of prophecy that hung around his shoulders came from. But most importantly, it became clear that I _still didn’t have control over my glamour oh fuck eyes stop doing the glowy thing_. Just because a Name laced with Elder magic was just casually dropped into conversation, even the Name of the incredibly attractive witcher I was currently tied to, did not give me an excuse to lose control of myself! And of course the elves noticed, because my luck is just like that, but at least they gamely tried not to draw more attention to it, which was polite. I didn’t think Geralt - Gwynnbleidd - noticed, at least. He was too focused on trying not to die, which to be fair I also should have been.

We were let go pretty quickly after that. Geralt wanted to hightail it out of there, but I really didn’t want the elf-king to be looking at me like that anymore. Wary, and a little remorseful. So I shooed the witcher away, reassuring him I would be fine, and waited for a little while. Before having this conversation, I murmured, “Geralt, come back. I need you.” When no response was forthcoming, I decided it was safe. I looked at the elf expectantly.

In retrospect, I should have known he would think I wanted more from him. The lute was glorious, and I wasn’t about to turn it down, but that isn’t what I meant. “Sure, for the one you broke. And for that lovely Name, _I_ ought to give _you_ something as well, hm?”

He still didn’t make a request. Probably didn’t know how much the Name would be worth to me, and didn’t want to offend me either way. Instead, he asked, “What would you give us?”

At least he used first person plural. Made this easier. I let my eyes show through a little, definitely for the drama and not to reassure myself of my fine glamour control, while I decided. I took a few steps forward, and kissed the sick one square on the nose. She collapsed immediately, heaving for breath, and I held her up and drew the poison from her chest. It was coal, mostly. I wiped it off on her shirt, smiled brightly at the room at large, and left.

I didn’t use it much, of course. That would be boring, and probably get me a sword embedded in my chest, which would be terribly inconvenient. No, this game was an exercise in subtlety. A little “Get in the bath already, Gwynnbleidd” and some “You simply must carry me back, Gwynnbleidd, I cannot go on.” I made sure to use it casually, too, without magical influence. He asked me once why I called him that. I told him not to worry about it, that I thought it more poetic than simple Geralt. Which is true. 

But of course, the important part is that every time I called him by his Name, my hold over it grew. It was kinda fun, to do it the slow way. I needed him not to notice, since he probably could kill me, if he really put his mind to it.

The problem with this became clear over time. It’s just that I had never pretended to be human for quite so long before. They… rubbed off on me. Not magically - they don’t have enough magic for that. But they have funny ideas, and in order to blend in, I had to learn them.

After a while, when someone told me “no” and I made them say “yes,” I couldn’t think of anything but how I felt under my mother’s compulsion, as a child.

After a while, when someone told me what their safeword was, I asked what that meant and listened to the answer.

After a while, the idea of taking Geralt home to decorate my garden, show off to my friends and family, and throw out when I got bored, it just… it lost its appeal.

And then we met Borch, who stopped mid-introduction, eyes flicking to me, and didn’t give his surname, proving he’s more observant than my witcher. And then Geralt got angry with Yennefer. And then he got angry with me.

…

…

I left him.

I could have found a ring and gone home, but it would have felt even more like being defeated. I could have made him come home with me, but the dragon would have looked at me sideways and - and I would have known I’d betrayed him, even if he didn’t. Even if I didn’t let him. And I didn’t want to deal with my own people. 

I found an audience, instead, and played for room and board and especially drink. I wandered alone and grew flowers along the roadside, dandelion and cornflower and buttercup. I cried, for what I had lost of myself. What I had given to Gwynnbleidd, and not demanded anything for in return.

It couldn’t last. I am made of magic, and it demands balance. It is not that it hurt me to leave someone in my debt, without taking payment; it is that I _could not do it_. In the spring, I started walking again, my feet seeking out my witcher unerringly and without my input. I caught up to him in Posada, because of course I did.

He came in in the middle of my set. He’d been scouting, not finishing a hunt; there were no entrails in his hair. His timing was perfect, and made for more money at my feet and more awkward glares at the humans trying to talk to him. He looked at me awkwardly, too, but it wasn’t a glare. I couldn’t quite decipher it.

He ordered a beer and sat.

I finished my set, and sat across from him.

I shit you not, the first words out of his mouth were “I’m sorry,” which was endearing but also dragged him a little deeper into my magic. I made eye contact and hummed tonelessly, because I’m a petty little bastard. He didn’t laugh. Instead he started _babbling_ , which is not something I think anyone expected Geralt of Rivia to be capable of, but there we were. A lot of “you didn’t deserve that” and “I wasn’t thinking” and “I was angry at myself more than anyone else” and after it became clear he was neither going to stop nor make eye contact I stepped in.

“Geralt.”

Talking, and curling in on himself, and gripping his tankard so hard I worried he’d break it.

“Geralt.”

Talking, and pulling on his hair, and biting his lip until it bled.

_“Gwynnbleidd.”_

Finally, he looked up.

“Let’s have this conversation in private, shall we? I’ve a room upstairs.”

He followed. Of course he did.

We sat at the low table by the fireplace. I put myself between him and the iron poker. I poured him some of my own wine, out of habit, and looked him in the eye. “Did you ever notice?”

“... Notice what?”

“Do you think most humans look the same for twenty years straight?”

“Oh. That. I didn’t - I thought about it when Yen - but I tried not to think about - your mortality. … Are you going to tell me now?”

“I think you deserve to know how badly you fucked up, yeah.”

He shrunk on himself again. I don’t like it when he does that.

“I followed you around for twenty years. Dressed your wounds, washed your hair, sang your praises, bought you food. And you _threw me away._ ”

“Dandelion, I’m s -” 

I talked over him. “If I were human, that would be morally reprehensible.”

I dropped my glamour. I stretched into my extra inches. Blinked in my true eyes. Flexed my extra knuckles. Tucked my hair behind my ears. The witcher only stared, understanding dawning.

“But I run on promises, and debt magic, and _Names_ , Gwynnbleidd. What do you think I could do to you?”

“... Oh, shit.”

I smiled, all fangs. “Yeah.”


	2. A Deal is Struck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They say the fae can’t lie. It’s true, after a fashion; like anything that ever comes out of Dandelion’s mouth. He’s a bard. He takes a grain of truth and blows it out of proportion. I couldn’t tell where he was twisting the truth, but I was sure he was. I couldn’t afford to assume he was telling me everything."
> 
> Geralt and Dandelion work things out.

I should have run, at that point. I don’t think it would have worked, but I might have gotten as far as the kitchen and something cast-iron to kill him with. I could probably have done it. It was physically possible.

But emotionally? Imagine the toll.

There was also the fact that he’d just tell me to stop and I would. Because I’d dug myself 20 years deep into faerie debt. _Fuck_. So I just sat there, staring at his true form.

It was taller than the glamor, sort of stretched. He hurt to look at, but at the same time he was hard to look away from. My medallion had reacted to the glamor dropping, but was still again. His eyes had filled in with glowing blue, bluer than the sky. His skin was pale, almost translucent. He didn’t have horns or wings or anything, he was Dandelion, just… sharper. Just slightly to the left of the humble bard I knew and - and tolerated.

Luckily Dandelion started talking again, since I sure as fuck wasn’t going to. “So we have a few options here, darling. You could try to kill me. That’s an option. If you do, I’ll rip out your soul and put it in backwards. That would be okay, but you would be very boring.”

Yeah, that’s why I didn’t run. “... what are my other options.”

“Well, we can simply set up some terms so you can balance your debt! Ideally, when one is not being a mischievous bastard, one does this in advance, to prevent anyone taking advantage of unclear value of favors. I, as you may have noticed, have never had any idea what I was doing -”

He’d gotten animated again, gesticulating wildly with a glass of wine that should have spilled but didn’t. I said, “Looks pretty calculated to me,” and he went still. 

Quietly, and without looking at me, he said, “I assure you, it wasn’t. I was bored and hadn’t been across the veil in decades. I’ve no idea how long I might have let it go on.”

They say the fae can’t lie. It’s true, after a fashion; like anything that ever comes out of Dandelion’s mouth. He’s a _bard_. He takes a grain of truth and blows it out of proportion. I couldn’t tell where he was twisting the truth, but I was sure he was. I couldn’t afford to assume he was telling me everything.

He noticed me trying to parse his bullshit, and interrupted with, “Darling, you can have that breakdown later. Might we get back to the matter at hand?”

“...Hmm.”

“Alright! So, you’ve racked up a considerable debt. We can look at it any of several ways: as a debt of life, time, or action. _Action_ isn’t super feasible, since if we wanted you to have any shot at catching up to me I would have to stop being nice to you entirely, and I do not believe I could control myself. Thoughts?”

He _wanted_ me to have a shot at catching up to him? “Hrmm.”

“Yes, me too. _Life_ is a bit complicated, but we can do it if you want. Basically, we’d figure out how many times I actually saved your life, and round the rest of it up to one entire life debt. Then you’d owe me that many Big Ol’ Favors, that I can redeem whenever the fuck I feel like it. You’d stay on the Path, but not be allowed to die. When I needed you, I’d call you, you’d fix my problem, and your counter would tick down by one. If something mortally wounded you, you would end up at my house, I would heal you, and your counter would tick up by one. When it hit zero the deal would end and you would be free again, as though you’d never met me.”

Definitely better than the last, I guess. A nice long leash. I didn’t examine my thoughts on _‘as though you’d never met me.’_ Though something did sound wrong - “And I’ve never saved _your_ life?”

“I suppose there was that one time, with the young man whose father came in with a frying pan. But it’s certainly not as many as it would be if I were fragile.”

Right. Of course.

“Anyway, I will admit I am personally favoring the idea of a _time_ debt. We just say that I followed on your Path for twenty years, so you should follow on mine for another twenty. You’d of course have to do as I say, but it has the advantage, from my perspective, of letting me pamper the absolute shit out of you.”

Twenty years in the Feywilds? What the fuck would that do to me? “No.”

He clearly hadn’t expected any outright decision-making from me, which was fair but rude. “What? Why not? I know you like throwing yourself into danger at every opportunity, but I think it would be a nice break for you! I’d keep you safe, I promise. No one and nothing would hurt you. I would _treasure_ you. And it would only be temporary, so if you hate it you’ll know it won’t be forever.” He sounded so earnest, like he wanted this to work out for me. Like he cared.

It didn’t fucking matter how nicely he treats his toys - it didn’t matter that he hadn’t hurt me yet - it didn’t matter how _heartbroken_ he looked as he tried to persuade me - it didn’t matter that I wanted to fucking _rest_ for once in my fucking life -

“Can I winter at Kaer Morhen?”

Dandelion’s face transformed again, hope returning. It didn’t make me feel anything. Stop laughing at me. “Well, I didn’t go back to the Wilds every winter,” he hedged. “Only a few times in total, in fact, and not for the whole season either.”

Of course not, there were people he knew who wanted to hear him play over the winter. Bardic competitions to win, rich people with beds to warm, university students to teach. I couldn’t go so long without seeing my family. “... Please?”

He sighed. “One winter out of five.”

Fuck, I guess we’re doing this then. “Ok.”

“Really? Great!”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah.”

“... What now?”

“Now we go to bed, and find a fairy ring in the morning. Can’t wait to dress you properly, my handsome wolf. Don’t you worry, I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Somehow, I believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes there is sex in their future, no it doesn't happen immediately, no I won't be writing it.


End file.
